


Home

by noussommeslessquelettes



Series: Throwback Playlist - A High School Klance AU [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-High School, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noussommeslessquelettes/pseuds/noussommeslessquelettes
Summary: “Thanks again for your help… sir.” Keith pursed his lips, contemplating how to tactfully phrase his sentiment. “Er, if you want I can get the jack back to you tomorrow, it won’t be a problem.”Lance’s father waved it off. “It’s fine, actually I was hoping you and I could take the chance to talk, man-to-man. Would you be alright with that?”Well what are you going to say, ‘no’?!“Sure,” he croaked.(High School AU) Keith has an unexpected conversation with Lance’s father about life, love, and home.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> *jingle bells a-ringin’* ho ho heyoooo~ happy holidays, and welcome back to Throwback Playlist!!! (it’s early to break out the holiday cheer but u kno what we’ve already had the first snow of the season like a week ago sO I’M IN THE SPIRIT) 
> 
> I know what you’re thinking: two updates, in ONE month??? Allow me to explain: it’s almost the end of the semester, my brain hurts a lot, and I’m using writing as an escape from my responsibilities.
> 
> For the penultimate time, if this is your first time taking a look at this story make sure you start from the first part!!! That way you get all the background for what’s happening here, and also they kiss. That’s honestly my big selling point (it was the reason I wrote this story in the first place shhh.)
> 
> Just to be clear (since there are a billion songs with the name ‘Home’) this title is in reference to the Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes song.
> 
> Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies the story follows with respect to American culture/state policy. I drew a lot from my own experiences as a second-generation immigrant to Canada (as well as what I’ve learned as a student of North American post-colonial history), and while I tried to keep it pretty general and applicable to the American immigrant experience there may have been subtleties I missed. In addition, out of respect for latinx people I stayed away from trying to make commentary on the latinx experience, since I’m not latinx and it’s therefore not my story to tell. I recognise that my portrayal might not be totally accurate but my main priority was for it to be respectful (I mean ideally the most accurate portrayal will be the most respectful, but I recognise I won’t be perfect and am always willing to listen and learn.)
> 
> Aight enough of me let’s get this story goin

Even with his cell pressed to his ear, Keith could barely make out its ringing tone for the sound of rain pounding relentlessly against the car’s roof. He ruffled his soaked hair, splattering raindrops across the interior, all while pleading under his breath for the call to connect.

“Hello?” Lance’s voice finally cut through that dreaded ringing, and for once Keith was thankful for how loud he spoke, since it meant the sound of the downpour was no match for him.

“Lance,” he exhaled in relief, unable to help the smile that overtook his expression. “Are you busy right now?”

There was a pause. “Is everything okay?” He asked in lieu of a response, trepidation marking his tone.

“I’m—yeah, I’m okay, it’s fine, it’s…” he sighed, dropping the hand from his hair and into his lap. “I took Shiro’s car for a drive to clear my head, and I busted a tire, so I’m stuck. My foster parents are out of town with him, Pidge doesn’t have a car, Hunk’s still on his family trip, and I don’t have any money for a tow truck.”

Lance snorted. “Wow, has America’s Wunderkind Keith Kogane finally met his match? You don’t know how to change a flat tire?”

Lightning flashed, illuminating the expanse of darkness surrounding him for an instant, its proximity marked by the near-immediate crack of thunder that shook the car. “I know how to change a tire, asswipe,” he snapped. “But the car doesn’t have a jack, and I’m not exactly capable of lifting a whole fucking car by myself.”

“What, so you want me to help you lift it?” Lance laughed at his own joke, while Keith just rolled his eyes. “Did you check the trunk?”

“No, I checked the goddamn  _ cupholder _ , Lance,” he deadpanned.

“Alright, alright, tough crowd,” he acquiesced. His tone grew softer when he spoke next, unsure. “Did… you sure it’s not good to drive on?”

Keith shook his head. “It’s done for, I was lucky to limp it off the road and into a parking lot.”

“Where are you right now?”

He quickly scanned around, finding only the implacable darkness that had persisted throughout the evening. “Honestly? I’ve got no fucking clue. I don’t know the area, and I couldn’t really see where I pulled off.” He flicked on the headlights, huffing when all they showed him was a lane of empty parking lot and the rain that beat down on it. “Hang on, I’ll figure out the intersection.” Tossing the phone onto the passenger seat before he could hear Lance’s answer, he threw the door open and rushed out.

Immediately upon exiting, Keith was reminded by freezing pinpricks against his arms that his jacket was still in the car, slung over the passenger seat’s headrest in a vain attempt to dry off the dripping garment. He froze on his feet, glancing back as he debated retrieving it. His bangs flattened over his eyes in mere seconds, pulling an unrestrained growl from him as he realised just how quickly he’d gotten totally drenched yet again.

“Fuck’s sakes,” he cursed, figuring going back for the coat would be pointless now. He spun on his heel and broke in a run towards what he hoped would be the nearest road. In his first bout of luck tonight, that random trajectory led him almost directly to a stoplight a dozen yards from the car. He made a mental note of the street names, then booked it right back towards the headlights.

He slammed the door shut behind him, shaking his hair out like a shaggy mutt and praying he wouldn’t water-log his cellphone as he picked it back up. “Rodick and Williamson,” he panted, angling the phone away to catch his breath a moment, flicking the lights off.

Lance gave a thoughtful hum on the other end. “You’re out by the old theater then, a good fifteen minutes out of town.”

Keith pinched his brow, figuring he could read the hesitance in Lance’s tone. “Look, I hate having to ask for your help but I’m out of options. I wasn’t supposed to take the car, and if I can’t at least get it back home on four wheels then I’ll be in deep shit.”

“I’m at work right now,” Lance confessed, “and I won’t get out another hour.”

Keith tipped his head back, screwing his eyes shut.  _ Of course _ . “You can’t get someone to cover?”

“No, I… I’m actually covering someone else’s shift, one of our swim instructors quit this week so we’re short-staffed. I’m probably in enough trouble as it is taking this call,” he muttered.

“Lance,  _ please _ ,” he hated himself for begging, but he was desperate, “it’s dark, I’m soaking wet, I’m all alone and I’m—fuck, I’m fucking scared, okay?” He ran a hand down his face. It was selfish but he really just wanted Lance to be his hero tonight. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he admitted, more to himself than for anything else.

“Hey, hey,” Lance soothed, “it’ll be okay Keith. Look, just hang tight and I’ll figure something out. You can count on me!” He declared right before hanging up.

Keith let the tension out of his muscles with a sigh, dropping his cellphone in the cupholder and wiping the rain off his bare arms. He never was one for being the damsel in distress, but there was something in Lance’s—admittedly vague—reassurances that made him treasure the resulting warmth blossoming in his ribcage. He shook his hair out again as he watched the rain ease, idly complaining aloud that the tire could’ve waited a few minutes longer to blow and spared him the total drenching he’d suffered.

He turned the key once in the ignition to illuminate the dash, noting only one minute had passed since they’d hung up, figuring the cliché about time slowing when you were waiting rang unfortunately true. He closed his eyes and rest his head back, letting his mind wander instead to dreams of Lance rushing to his rescue, and the eventual segue into the proclamation of his undying love—a common element in Keith’s fantasies nowadays.

Or… at least the clean ones.

“ _ Oh Keith, _ ” Lance would call from across the parking lot, shouting to let his voice be heard over the downpour (and yes, it’s still bordering on hurricane-force in this daydream because it makes the scene more compelling, besides it’s truest to character for the drama queen the real Lance is,) “ _ I dropped everything as soon as you called, I’m so happy you’re okay. _ ”

He’d rush over and wrap Keith in a crushing embrace while Keith, frozen in place next to his car from surprise, would ask him: “ _ But Lance, you could get in trouble with your boss, why would you do that just for me? _ ”

(The real Keith couldn’t help but snort derisively at how cheesy this conjured-up mental image was getting.)

Then, the proverbial shoe would drop. Lance would pull back, bring his hands up to gently cup Keith’s face, and whisper that quintessential and  _ insanely  _ kitschy declaration through a gentle smile: “ _ Because I’m in love with you. _ ”

Keith would go rigid in shock but Lance would move for them both, gently tugging him closer while leaning in just far enough that their breath mingled. He’d pause to steel himself one last moment, their lips a fraction of an inch from touching, before finally capturing—

A vibration resonated through the cabin, prompting an uncomely squeak of surprise from Keith.  _ Right, the phone _ . He snatched it out of the cupholder, dampening the amplifying effects it had afforded the vibrate before silencing the noise entirely, swiping ‘accept.’

“Okay, before I say anything, how awesome am I?” Lance boasted the very moment Keith picked up.

Keith released his first true breath since the whole goddamn ordeal began. “Depends: will my answer change yours?”

Lance’s laugh rang in his ear. “Usually it would, but tonight I’m feeling charitable, you lucky dog.”

Keith’s heart swelled, and he let a smile spread across his lips unbidden. “How soon can you be here?”

There was a pause on the other line. “Oh. Well… I’m still stuck here, I’m not going to make it—but don’t worry!” Lance’s cheer immediately picked back up. “My dad’s already on his way over!”

Just like that, Keith’s dream was immediately shattered. His smile fell, the temperature of the cabin seeming to instantly drop a handful of degrees. “Your—that’s—no.”

“Wh—‘ _ no _ ’?” Lance parroted, tone incredulous.

“Thanks! I-I mean,” Keith stammered, sitting up in his seat, “tell him no thanks. He doesn’t have to—I don’t want to put him out of his way, o-or—”

“He’s already coming back from work, it’s hardly a detour for him,” Lance assured.

“I can—I can just call a tow truck!” Keith backpedalled. “Or… walk home, it’s really no issue,” he insisted, his tone anything but.

Lance sighed. “Okay, I think I know what’s going on. You don’t have to panic over making small talk with my dad. I know he can seem, like, stoic and unapproachable, or whatever, but the truth is he’s just as socially awkward as you man.”

“And you think that makes this better?!” Keith whined, slumping back in his chair.

He snorted. “Dude, you see him all the time, I don’t see how this is a whole lot different! Look, he’s not big on chatting anyway, but if it starts to get uncomfortable just talk to him about Tuesday’s soccer game.”

“Do I  _ look _ like I watch soccer, Lance?” Keith screwed his eyes shut, rubbing fingers into his temple.

“Right, forgot you were more of a hockey fan,” he teased.

Keith grit his teeth. “I’d fucking hit you right now.”

“Kinky, but don’t forget that I’m still on the clock. Ah crap—I’ve got to go now, but he should be there in five—bye!” He squeezed the phrase in quickly, hanging up before affording Keith the chance to retort.

He groaned, throwing his phone onto the passenger’s seat and curling his forearms over the steering wheel, leaning his forehead into them. Sure, maybe he’d been a bit stupid to dream that Lance would ever drop everything just to drive off to Keith’s aid, but this? Keith couldn’t believe how quickly his luck had run out on him.

* * *

Okay so by all means, Robert McClain was a tremendously respectable man, even to the infamously rebellious Keith. He was intelligent, accomplished, cared deeply about his family, and had a (much appreciated) knack for holding his tongue when faced with the things he disagreed with. The latter tied in with the real big reason for Keith’s apprehension towards him.

After the initial panic that accompanied Keith’s impulse decision to come out as gay to Lance’s parents came the heavy dread of the eventual confrontation. He’d brace himself time and time again—study sessions at Lance’s, the graduation ceremony, hangouts, sleepovers—for the reckoning he’d suffer for his hubris. It never came, and Keith wanted to believe that it was because the McClain’s were supportive (or at the very least didn’t care), but he wasn’t naïve.

If Lance’s assessment of his parents’ stance on matters of sexuality wasn’t evidence enough for him, then the shift in the air between he and Lance’s dad after prom night would certainly be more than adequate. It showed in the tightness around his eyes when he saw Keith enter a room, their mutual difficulty directly addressing each other, and most notably the stern glares Keith was treated to on a number of occasions when he and Lance would go anywhere alone, as though Keith was kidnapping his son to perform gay voodoo magic and make him like boys—a suspicion that would no doubt would be compounded if Lance ever were to come out to his parents.

So there was the question, hanging unasked in the air: what would happen if you left a scrawny gay kid alone with his crush’s fiercely protective, homophobic dad, in a darkened parking lot in the middle of buttfuck anywhere, with no means of escape?

Violence? Keith honestly doubted it. Mr. McClain might not approve of Keith’s unrepentant gayness but he didn’t seem the violent homophobe (Keith would know.) Even if he were, Keith figured he’d have the advantage of both speed and a tire iron.

But awkward tension? That had already begun to fester well before his arrival. Now that the rain had tapered off Keith took it upon himself to wait out the driver’s side of the car, wringing the tire iron in both hands as he paced from tip-to-trunk. Every pair of headlights that passed would send his pulse skyrocketing, his breath only returning once they receded.

That is until one pair didn’t, the adjoining car slowing towards the entrance before turning in. Keith stilled, squaring his shoulders as he watched it weave through the lane leading into the lot. He pulled up a hand to tug at his jacket’s lapel and air himself off with it now that he was sweating in earnest. The dread pooled in his gut and spread to his legs, muscles twitching with the impulse to book it.

He fought that off and lifted a hand to the sleek coupé that pulled up parallel to Shiro’s car, its engine shutting off before crawling to a smooth stop. Keith watched the driver busy himself with the keys, feeling oddly voyeuristic just standing there and staring. He thus dropped his eyes down to the iron, turning it over and scrutinising it like he’d be writing a final on the precise locations of rust on the tool. When he heard the door open he lifted his head, exchanging a sterile smile with the new arrival as he stepped out.

“Heard you needed some help?” Mr. McClain greeted, making his way directly to his car’s trunk and opening it, burying his upper half within.

“Yeah, I… thanks,” Keith tongue felt heavy, sincerity far from his strong suit. “For coming, that is. I hate to be a bother—”

“It’s no bother,” he insisted, a hand sticking out to wave it off. “I see you’ve already got an iron.”

Keith glanced down to his hands, then back up. “O-oh, yeah! The spare’s there too.” Keith jerked his head back to indicate where it rested on the other side.

“I should hope so, I’m not sure mine would fit,” he laughed.

It pulled a soft chuckle from Keith too.  _ Okay, so far, so good. Maybe Lance was right, maybe this’ll all work out fine. _ “It’s just the jack I’m missing.”

Mr. McClain stood up straight, holding a scissor jack out to him between both hands. “This’ll do?” Keith nodded, and he tucked it under his arm. “Which tire?”

“Other side, passenger front.” He turned around and led the way, glancing over his shoulder once to check that Mr. McClain followed.

The pair having rounded the car, the man gave a low whistle as he set his jack down, crouching beside the flat as he examined it. “That’ll do it.” He cocked his head to the side, inspecting the contact point to the pavement. “Lucky for you the wheel isn’t touching the ground, or that could’ve spelled trouble during that storm.”

Keith knelt down, pulling the jack towards himself. “Definitely.” He slid it under the body and started to wind it up.

“You know how to change a tire?” Keith nodded. “Good kid. Every man should know how to change his own tire,” he praised.

Keith reached back and searched blindly for his tire iron, finally catching his fingers on it and bringing forward it to undo the first lug nut. “Thanks again for your help… sir.” Keith pursed his lips, contemplating how to tactfully phrase his sentiment. “Er, if you want I can get the jack back to you tomorrow, it won’t be a problem.” He grunted as he yanked on the stubborn nut, finally loosening it.

Lance’s father waved it off. “It’s fine, actually I was hoping you and I could take the chance to talk, man-to-man. Would you be alright with that?”

Keith heart was pounding so loud he swore it must’ve echoed across the parking lot, his shoulders pulling tight when he heard the crunch of shoes rubbing against asphalt. He thanked any god listening that his hands didn’t shake as he moved to work on the next nut, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Man-to-man? Keith had never fared well with guy talk, partly due to the whole gay thing, partly due to the lack of a consistent male adult in his life, but mostly for the fact that Keith was socially clueless and guy talk was a veritable minefield of subtlety and ‘bonding but not too much because men don’t share their feelings,’ and—

_ Okay, well what are you going to say, ‘no’?! _

“Sure,” he croaked.  _ Good start, fan-fucking-tastic _ . He leaned into the tire iron and fought the urge to knock himself out with it, wondering if he could manage it in one try.

Mr. McClain exhaled, long and slow. “I know about your feelings for my son.”

The iron slipped from Keith’s grip. He spat an undignified curse as his hands flew out to the wheel well before he rammed his face into it, staring at the hint of his terrified reflection in the car’s paint as he attempted to mount a reply.

“W-what do—I uh,” he stammered, “I don’t—don’t know what you mean,” he tried to assert, feeling his voice crack. He wasn’t proving his case well, was he? Oh god…

“I’m not upset with you, Keith,” Mr. McClain said gently.

_ Wait, what? _

Keith pivoted on his feet, turning back to face him. Far from the terseness Keith had dreaded in anticipation of this conversation, his expression now was open, soft despite the harsh light of the nearby lamp post. Keith wanted to say something reassuring, like ‘I didn’t think you would be,’ or… fucking hell, what would a normal person say in this situation—what would  _ Lance _ ? 

“Wh—uhh… thanks, I think?”

Mr. McClain offered a sympathetic smile, crawling over to lean back against the bumper. “It’s okay, I know I’ve sort of sprung this on you, but…” his smile faded. “I owe you an apology. I’ve thought some things I’m not proud of, and I’m ashamed of the way I allowed it to make me behave. I’ve given the matter a lot of consideration, and though I’m still learning, I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for how I misjudged you for your identity.”

Keith could practically hear his brain whirring as it tried to process what he was hearing. “It’s… don’t worry about it.” He dropped his gaze to the ground. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Mr. McClain insisted. “I was wrong, and I want you to know that I see that now.” He sighed, long-suffering. “This isn’t your responsibility, but if you wouldn’t mind hearing the tale of an old man’s woes, I’d like the chance to explain myself.” Keith didn’t respond, so he spoke again. “Would that be okay?”

Keith looked back to him, nodding dumbly. “Yeah, I’d—totally.”

He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling softly. “Bless you, Keith.” He turned his eyes up to the starless sky. “I want you to know I’m not conservative, by any means. I’ve long been in full support of equal marriage, and I would never act violently towards…” he pursed his lips, looking for the right words and inevitably coming up short. “I, uh—I struggled with the concept, though. I grew up in a different world than you did, where God came first, then family, then you. And really I never considered how that might… I just figured I’d never met someone who was…”

“Gay,” Keith offered.

“Right.” He tilted his head to the side, watching when the odd car would zip down the main thoroughfare. “I made it quite a long time without having to ever confront my worldview—or perhaps, I’d made it so long by avoiding the confrontation.”

Keith turned back to the tire, busying himself with the third lug nut. “I guess I made that hard on you then, saying what I said.”

He gave a dry laugh. “That’s one way to put it, yes. I’ll be honest, Keith, I was scared of you after you’d said that.”

Keith furrowed his brow, moving to the next nut. “Scared? Why?”

“You have my son’s ear,” he stated plainly, “and he cares a lot about you.  _ And _ , you’ve been less than subtle about your feelings towards him.”

Keith chewed his lip. “I’d never… force myself on him, if—”

“No no,” he quickly backtracked, shaking his head fervently, “I know that—and I knew that then. I was…” he trailed off, picking at his nails. “Has Lance ever told you about how he moved to America?”

Keith blinked, struggling to follow the connection to the sudden segue. “No. I thought he was born here, actually.”

It appeared to be the correct answer, as Mr. McClain seemed to relax in his peripheral vision. “Each of my children was born in Cuba. We never had plans to move, but when I was working as an associate professor there—a few years out of graduate school—I received an offer to continue my work at the University of Oregon. I was conflicted about taking it at first, it meant moving away from everything I’d ever known to start a life in a foreign land. My oldest daughter was only eleven at the time, Lance was a baby.”

“But you went anyway?” Keith prompted.

He shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice. It offered the path to a lot more money than I was making back then, and with a family as big as ours… we were struggling to provide. So yes, I went.”

Keith loosened the last nut, dropping the iron next to him and bracing two hands to the wheel.

“Need help?” Mr. McClain turned towards him, holding out a tentative hand.

Keith shook his head, grunting with the effort of freeing the flat. “I’ve got it. You were saying?”

He let the hand fall as Keith rolled the tire haphazardly to the side. “Right. In any case, it took a long while to bring everyone up to the United States, since we could only afford to move a few at a time.” He blew out a harsh exhale, his voice wavering when he continued. “It was a difficult few years for us, having the family broken apart between two homes, missing Christmases, birthdays, milestones. Lance was six when he came up—he was the last, along with Maria and my mother-in-law—and—” he cut himself off suddenly, prompting Keith to glance over.

When he caught a shimmer in Mr. McClain’s eye he quickly turned away, figuring he’d grant the man a little privacy while he grabbed the spare.

“He didn’t recognise me,” he muttered at long last. “My own son didn’t know who I was—he spent the first years of his life fatherless, and there was nothing I could do to get that back.” Keith stilled, eyes fixed straight ahead. In his peripheral vision, he could see Mr. McClain shift to face him a little better, feeling bright blue eyes bore into his profile. “Keith, do you remember your father?” He asked quietly.

It took a few moments for Keith to answer, but Mr. McClain waited patiently all the while, only moving to push his glasses back up his nose. Keith shook his head slowly, eyes downcast. “Not a whole lot. I was really young when he died.”

He nodded slowly. “I can tell you this, Keith: the hardest thing for a father to ever have to endure is the feeling that they’ve abandoned their child. I hope you know that a father’s love is unbreakable… that he would’ve done anything to keep you safe, and to let you know that you’re loved.”

Keith leaned the tire against the wheel well, falling back on his ass and looking down into his lap. He’d spent a lot of his life feeling unloved, feeling abandoned, feeling… unwanted. He’d spent too many late nights unable to sleep, feeling so insurmountably alone and wishing for a parent like one of Lance’s. He knew that if his dad were half the father Robert was, he’d be one hell of a man.

But he simply nodded, all those words failing him.

Mr. McClain dropped his gaze, continuing his story. “Life was never easy on Lance. It took him a while to adjust to things up here, too young to properly deal with his whole world being turned upside down. He started school in a language he’d never spoken, and he was picked on for being different: for looking different and talking different, and for acting different too. He got diagnosed for ADHD, and he started the medications.” He turned to face straight once again. “I did whatever I could to make this easier on him, like any father would. I was his protector, it was my responsibility to keep any harm from coming to him.”

Keith swallowed hard, turning to him. “Did you think I’d hurt him?”

Mr. McClain returned his gaze sidelong, a sad smile on his face. “You grew up gay in America, Keith. How did that treat you?”

He frowned, scratching at the back of his neck. “Fair enough.”

“I trust you know my son is a bisexual, right?” Keith nodded. “I figured it out a number of years ago—maybe not in so many words, but I’d sensed something different to Lance. I knew how society treats people like you—hell, I was guilty of it myself—and I thought I could shelter him from that too, if I could stop him from discovering that part of himself. But in trying to protect him, I became exactly the kind of person I hoped to defend him from.”

“You couldn’t prevent it,” Keith told him. “It’s not something you can control.”

He nodded sagely. “And if I could? My problem with it is exactly that: mine. Not Lance’s, and certainly not yours. I see that now, and though I’ve got a long way to go, I was hoping you and I could start new, or at least put the past behind us. Do you think we could do that?” He extended a hand out for a handshake, coupled with an all-too-familiar lopsided smile.

Keith’s eyes went from the hand back to Mr. McClain. He shifted over, wiping off his own greasy hand against his leg before grasping it. “Of course.” He gave a firm shake before they both let their hands drop, a similar squeeze releasing from around his heart.

“Thank you, Keith. Do you think I could ask you one more question?”

Keith shrugged, turning away to his work once more. “Sure.”

“I want to make this up to Lance, but I don’t know how. How do I let him know that I support him?”

Keith considered the question, busying himself by lining up the spare. “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask. I don’t really know anything about comforting people.”

Mr. McClain scooped up the lug nuts, shuffling to kneel beside him. “You know Lance, though. Probably better than me at this point. Hold it still, I’ll screw it on.”

Keith obliged, knowing full well the wheel would sit on the bolts without his hands anyway. He watched Mr. McClain twist the nuts on their bolts with his fingers, contemplating his response all the while. “Alright. Well, Lance… needs someone who will listen. You don’t always have to have the answer for him, but…” he tapped a finger against the tire, trying to translate his thoughts into communicable words, “sometimes it’s enough to let him say what’s on his mind. Sometimes all he wants is for you to be there.”

“We don’t talk enough, and I know that’s not on his end,” he admitted gravely. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear about it yet, about… his feelings towards men,”

Keith shrugged. “It’s really not all that different than how he talks about girls, to be honest.”

Mr. McClain gave a grimace, resituating the last nut. “I see…”

Keith couldn’t help but smirk. “I guess that’s not really comforting.”

He laughed. “No, but I should get used to it, shouldn’t I? Crank the jack down, please.”

Keith reached over to do so. “Would it help or hurt if I told you he’s got a really bad taste in guys?”

“Hurt.”

Once the job was finished, Keith raised both hands innocently. “Then I won’t say anything.”

Mr. McClain smiled warmly at him, taking the tire iron in hand to complete the job. “Much appreciated. And for the record Keith, I think Lance would be damn lucky to have you as his partner.”

Keith’s smile wilted. “About that: you haven’t said anything to him, right? About my… feelings.”

Mr. McClain cocked an eyebrow at him, tightening the lug nuts. “Do you think he’d believe me if I did?”

Keith wrung his hands in his lap. “So you haven’t?”

“No. That’s your job, not mine.”

“I’m not telling him,” he confessed. “There’s no point now.”

Mr. McClain sighed. “Because you’re moving away?” He shifted to his feet, giving one last tug on a particularly stubborn nut. “He told me about that, he was heartbroken to hear it.”

Keith clenched his fists, guilt weighing heavily on his heart. “I’m sorry, the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt him. This is just… how it has to be.”

“Could you set the car down?”

“Mm-hm.” He crawled forward and unwound the jack completely, pulling it out from under the car.

“I understand. I’d like to offer you some advice, though.”

Keith grunted as he stood, walking over to free the wheel wedge he’d placed under the passenger rear tire. “Okay.”

He walked past Keith to the trunk, speaking over his shoulder. “My first two years in America were the loneliest I’d ever been. I left everyone I’d ever known and loved behind, and I didn’t know a single person when I first came over, apart from my colleagues. In those two years there were countless times I wanted to give up, I felt like I couldn’t go one more day. But there was one thought that that kept me going through even the hardest times.” He opened the trunk, setting the iron down.

Keith rounded the back of the car to take care of the other wheel, glancing up at Mr. McClain. “What was that?”

Mr. McClain smiled fondly. “Home. And not the one in Cuba, but the one I was making for my family up here. I knew in my heart that, though it wasn’t easy, I was becoming the man I needed to be for them, and that I was going to give them a brighter future here, one we could build together.”

He went back to pick up the flat, carrying it towards the trunk while Keith tossed in the wedges. “You don’t have to have an answer for me yet, Keith, but I want you to think about this: when you’re at college next year, and you feel stuck in the worst possible situation, wanting more than anything to let yourself give up, what are you going to think of to get you through it? What is ‘home’ for you?” He pushed his glasses up once his hands were free, regarding Keith pensively.

Keith turned to him, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Home?”

“A cruel question to ask a foster child, I know.” He smiled wryly, shutting the trunk. “Think about it, alright? In the meantime, I trust you won’t be stealing your brother’s car anytime soon.”

“Foster brother,” he corrected under his breath, averting his eyes.

Mr. McClain shook his head, chuckling. “Don’t let him hear you say that; I’ve known Shiro since he was a young boy, he wouldn’t see the distinction.” He paused, taking a step closer to Keith, and speaking softer. “I suppose he has the luxury, though.”

He wrapped his arms around Keith in a tight embrace. Keith tensed initially at having his face suddenly smushed against Mr. McClain’s windbreaker, but he quickly recovered to reciprocate, revelling in the warmth the brief embrace offered him. Mr. McClain pulled away, clapping a hand heartily against Keith’s shoulder.

“Text Lance to let him know everything’s okay; he worries about you.” He scooped up the scissor jack, stepping back from Keith. “I’ll see you soon, I hope?”

Keith nodded. “I’m coming over tomorrow with Pidge.”

He grinned. “See you tomorrow then. Drive safely, son.”

They both turned away to their respective cars, Mr. McClain turning his engine over first but waiting until Keith pulled away to doing the same. Keith watched his headlights in the rearview mirror until they diverged onto separate routes.

The car’s stereo crackled, tuned to auxiliary without any input. The tires rolled tackily against the wet pavement. Keith’s dirtied hands wrung the leather steering wheel. He sped headlong down the empty road, trying to think of home.

**Author's Note:**

> *writes fix-it fic for my life* fffuvkk yyuo
> 
> Anyway so a lot of this came from my real life experience in coming out to my parents RE: my sexuality. It’s not gone well, and honestly this might seem a bit self-serving but a large motivator behind me writing this scene was to give myself hope for a happy ending in the future, to deal with their rejection in a way that doesn’t exclude the possibility that they might change, while still validating the reasoning they’ve given me for why my coming out was difficult on them. I mean it’s not exactly the same reasoning, but the motivation behind it remains analogous so….. ya
> 
> FYI his name’s actually Roberto but he anglicised it. That’s never gonna come up in the actual fic but I needed u to know (coming from an immigrant community like half the ppl I know have two versions of their name hell I do too lmao.) He shortens it to Rob at work, but to family and friends it’s Berto. This is what fleshing out characters is right??? Look at me ma I’m a real writer now.
> 
> By the way @ any new drivers who are reading this DO NOT!!! Shut off ur ignition before putting it in park if ur driving an auto transmission, it’s something u can only really do with standard cars. 
> 
> Oh my gosh we’ve got one more part to go??? I’m freaking out??? I had my head down this whole time trying to write on a schedule, but now… it’s just hitting me how close I am to finishing this. Thanks again to everyone reading this, from those of you who’ve been here since the first part to whoever’s just starting this series… like holy shit you guys have no idea how much it means to me that we’ve been taking this journey together. If I could give every one of you a personal hug and thank you for your support, I would. So I mean if ur reading this, imagine my tiny lil ass squeezing u rly tight if ur okay w hugs. Basically picture a twelve year old and ur pretty close lol.
> 
> And thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please kudo, comment, rec, and/or [reblog on Tumblr!](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/167637289306/home-noussommeslessquelettes-voltron/) One more to go, are y’all ready for this???


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